


Balance

by Bethy1416



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/M, Flac, spring trailer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 04:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14036424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethy1416/pseuds/Bethy1416
Summary: When Frieda meddles with Jac and Fletch, how will Jac respond? And will the lingering gazes and fleeting touches encourage Fletch to speak his mind?My take on how the Spring Trailer 2018 clips fit together.





	Balance

**Author's Note:**

> My take on those Spring Trailer clips we had. Thank you to Sabs and the rest of the Flaclet team for their help on this. Hope you enjoy :)

It’s early afternoon when Jac eventually steps out of theatre, having been operating since her shift began. She unfastens her hair as she shoves open the doors onto the ward with her shoulder and spots Frieda sitting by one of the computers at the nurses’ station. She decides to get the mentor ‘chat’ for the shift over with, so she can continue her day undisturbed in her office.

“How did the CABG go?” She questions, picking up her patient’s file to sign off her last procedure.

Frieda quirks a manicured eyebrow and purses her painted lips. “You don’t trust me to complete such a simple operation?”

Jac sighs. “I’m not here to trust and make friends, I simply asked if it went to plan?”

“Yes.” 

Their eyes lock as they each wait for the other to say something further, but Jac’s patience is not her forte. She huffs and harshly scratches her signature onto the sheet before shutting the folder and dropping it back on the pile. She’s about to walk off when Frieda’s monotone voice finally cracks the silence. 

“Mr Fletcher is going to be heartbroken when you break the news to him.”

“What news?” She snaps. 

“That you’re not here to make friends. Unless…” Jac resorts to backtracking her last steps and leaning against the counter, twisting her pen between her fingers and daring the Ukrainian to continue with a pointed glare. “Unless you’re here to make friends… just with added benefits, that’s the saying, right?”

Jac’s eyes widen as her frown deepens and she doesn’t miss Frieda’s poor attempt at playing the inarticulate foreign speaker. 

“What in God’s name are you on about?”

“You say you’re not here to make friends, but you and Fletch seem like boob buddies.”

“The idiom you’re after is  _ bosom buddies _ ,” Jac comments. “And no, we’re not. Sure, we’re friendly but only- why am I explaining myself to you?”

“You don’t have to explain, it’s perfectly obvious,” the dark haired woman drawls. Jac’s attention is diverted when she sees Fletch walk into his office. Frieda follows her mentor’s gaze and smirks to herself when her eyes land on Holby’s D.O.N. “Has he asked you out yet? Oh… wait,” Frieda pauses and lifts a finger to her chin pensively. “Or was I meant to pass that on as a message?”

“What? What’s he said, Petrenko?” She questions impatiently, not letting on to the flutter in her chest. 

The new surgeon gathers together some files and logs off the computer. “A date.”

“I don’t date and definitely not Fletch,” Jac insists, motioning towards him with her free hand.

Frieda looks at her as she pushes back her chair to stand and gives a nod, not at all convinced but pretty content with how much she’s managed to wind-up Jac. 

Her student’s lack of argument unsettles Jac more than she likes to admit. She watches Frieda disappear down a corridor and anxiously reaches to readjust the stethoscope around her neck. Glancing at the clock, she mentally figures out her schedule for the rest of her shift and decides that her first port of call will be making herself a generous mug of coffee to encourage her through the paperwork. She clears her throat and takes the stack of files from the station to her office, checking around her to ensure that nobody had seen her so contemplative. 

She’s just leaving for the break room when Fletch walks out of his own office and heads in the same direction. Her inner voice goes mad when she retreats into her office again, a breath trapped in her lungs, and waits until he’s out of sight before venturing back out. As she walks down the corridor, she can hear the rich sound of coffee pouring and silently threatens a riot if there’s none left when she gets there. She marches into the room, about to confront the potential coffee stealer, but sees that it’s Fletch and the first thing off her tongue is the one thing she both wanted to avoid and approach all at the same time… 

“Did you ask me on a date?” She exclaims, the surprise and confrontation in her tone amplified by her fight or flight reaction upon seeing him perched on the back of the sofa. She’s not sure whether it’s the smash of his mug that’s first to greet her ears or his panicked inhale of breath, but when he turns to face her his hand is gripped over his heart in a futile attempt at calming its rapid beating. 

“Ah! Blimey, Jac! You scared the living…” He trails off as he tries to compose himself. 

She looks a bit sheepish, her hands twiddling at her sides and a grimace creasing her features, but she plods towards him to offer help in a vaguely apologetic manner, nonetheless. She reaches for the roll of kitchen towel and hands it to him as he kneels beside the ceramic casualty on the floor. She winces slightly as she bends, using the back of the couch for support, and he silently puts a hand on her knees to pause her movements as he cautiously collects all the shards. When he knows that she won’t kneel on anything, he retracts his hand and continues applying wads of tissue to the spillage.

“Makes a change from cleaning up after Emma,” she murmurs, wiping the floor between them. He offers a smile in response. 

She can’t tell whether he had heard her exclamation about the date or not. The atmosphere is charged but that could be down to any number of extraneous variables. She finds that she’s looking at him in a different light, as though she now sees past the things he wants people to see. She’s not claiming to know his secrets, but she feels like she’s finally valuing him beyond her previous efforts of friendly decency. Since their acquaintance she’d felt like their relationship had been unbalanced and she didn’t believe it to be because of the countless times he’d been there for her, an unreciprocated hand to hold and shoulder to cry on. It’s only now that she’s recognising this difference in their approaches to each other as being one lacking in mutual reverence. Professionally, she supposes she had some respect for him, and as a father. But it seems she’d never really seen him as an individual, as somebody in their own right, instead of somebody performing their role. She knows she’s overthinking this, her amygdala refusing to slow down, but she feels like this is the explanation she’s been needing. He’d always held her in high regard and put her first, made sure she was okay and comfortable and content, he’d concerned himself with her well-being and not once was it because she was a surgeon or a mother. She struggles to pinpoint a handful of moments where she’d said or done something for him, without it being about work or the kids or her own interest.

 

Now, though, she’s on her hands and knees mopping up coffee because she wants to help  _ him _ , and for once she finds that it’s not because she wants him to get back to work quickly or to procrastinate her own tasks, but simply because it’s the decent thing to do and she wants to show her remorse.

“And, look, I’m really sorry about your coffee,” she rushes, focusing on the task at hand. 

He grunts as he shuffles back from where he’d been reaching past her to wipe up stray drops. “Don’t worry ‘bout the coffee,” he replies, looking her in the eye for the first time since they’d crouched down on the floor. Their gazes hold. Jac can feel the pulse in her hand racing as she anxiously curls it into a fist. His precarious balancing on all fours has Fletch swaying a little towards her and she tenses her jaw at how close his face is to hers. She can smell the subtle tones of coffee on his breath and her eyes briefly dart to his lips, her own tingling at the prospect of a kiss. A light, audible exhale from him reminds them both of where they are and they each clear their throats. She sits back on her haunches as he gets to his feet, holding out his hands to help her up. Yet again, Fletcher knows what she needs and provides a way to aid her efforts.

“Okay?” He checks after a wince of discomfort deepens the creases around her eyes. She nods and pats his arm. “Been going to physio?” 

“Meant to have a session this afternoon but I have too much to do. Plus Frieda’s in theatre, should probably stick around for that.”

He tilts his head at her. “Don't make excuses, Naylor.”

“I'm not!” She defends, smirking. 

“Go to your session, paperwork will still be here when you get back.”

“Unbelievably, sending my  _ apprentice  _ into a complicated and risky cardiothoracic procedure without my supervision is my primary concern here.”

“Well, I could do with a trip out of the office. I'll scrub in with Frieda; give you a call if there's a problem.”

She eyes him suspiciously. How had his saintly behaviour gone unnoticed by her before today? 

“I shall go but only if you promise to call?” 

“Promise,” he smiles. 

 

She's on her way back from physio, her phone and pager yet to make a sound. She decides to observe the procedure, for peace of mind and for paperwork reasons (both to procrastinate her current workload and to fill in the relevant forms Frieda requires as part of training).

As she approaches the observation window, Fletch turns round to see who’s joined, so she waves. The subtle creasing around his eyes tells her that he’s smiling in response. Suddenly the machines in theatre are alerting them to the patient’s declining health and Jac’s wavering trust in Frieda’s abilities on such a complex case have her rapidly throwing her hair into a bun, preparing to scrub in. As she’s about to give up on waiting and watching, the alarms stop and Fletch turns to give her a thumbs up. 

 

The surgery goes on for another hour and a half and she admits to herself that observing isn’t as fun as it used to be, especially with the nagging ache in her side. Once the patient is closed up, Frieda and Fletch leave theatre and Jac goes to join them but the sudden movement after being stood still so long sends a sharp pain through her torso and down her leg. Unwanted and unnecessary tears fill her eyes as she leans against the wall, breathing through it. It’s only several seconds until it dies down again but she remains where she is until she’s certain her leg won’t buckle. As she steps into the corridor, Frieda’s going through the double doors and out of sight. She’s going to follow after her but then Fletch appears from the scrub room and gives her a smile. 

“Your little apprentice knows her stuff,” he comments, coming to rest on the wall near her. 

“Must be the teaching,” she quips. 

“Well, in case you couldn’t tell, it all went to plan, just a minor hitch with no repercussions.”

“Good.” She subconsciously comes to lean against the wall opposite him. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

They watch one another for a few seconds. Then a few seconds more, the silence stretching between them.

It’s with thanks to her renowned stoic fa ç ade that she doesn’t visibly jump when his fingers suddenly brush against hers and snake their way to her wrists, where he holds them loosely. 

“You and me, we’re gonna talk,” he murmurs, his jaw tensing anxiously.

“About what?” She asks nonchalantly, but he sees right through her calm exterior, it’s something in her slightly teary eyes. 

“About everything we haven’t been.”

She swallows and casts her gaze to somewhere beyond his shoulder. “If that’s what you want,” she practically whispers, pulling her arms through his grasp and squeezing his fingers before walking away.

He’s surprised that he didn’t receive a sarcastic response or look of derision.

 

It’s the end of their shifts, the moment to which they’d both subconsciously assigned  _ The Talk. _ Jac’s paperwork had been a slow process, her normal ability to compartmentalise life and work being an unhelpful solution when the two are so closely entangled. She’s nervous, and whilst that’s not a new feeling, it’s one she’s not particularly encountered when it comes to a task as trivial as talking to a man. 

 

She walks into her office, having just changed out of her scrubs, to find Fletch mid-pace. He sighs with slight relief and she immediately knows that it’s because he’d thought she’d chickened out and left before they could have chance to speak. The temptation to sit at her computer, with the desk as a safety barrier between them, nearly overwhelms her final decision to casually sit on the sofa. She watches as he has a similar internal debate and settles on perching at the other end of the couch; at least this way eye contact will be optional, she’d expected him to lean against the edge of her desk where they’d have been in each other’s direct line of sight. 

“I just want the truth,” he begins, having to clear his throat of nerves.

“Truth about what?”

He glances across at her, not wanting to voice what they both already know they’re referring to.

“You know what.”

“Do I? There are multiple things we could be discussing here, I’m not sure if I know the specific one you want to talk about.”

“Well let’s talk about them all.”

Barely twenty seconds in and she’s already made this situation much worse than it had to be. “Okay… For starters, I’d still go to the zoo should you one day revoke the ‘professionals’ clause.”

“And that brings us nicely onto our next point,” he beams at her, knowing she’d regret saying those words as it was merely leading them on to discussing what she wants to avoid. “Are we more than professionals?”

“I think we stopped being that when I became your patient for two months.”

“True,” he laughs softly. 

“And we’re friends, right?”

He turns to her and smiles slowly at the genuine question, finding her inability to judge their relationship endearing.

“We are.”

The silence crackles as they both avoid saying the next obvious question.

“Guess we're not professionals then,” she eventually adds.

“Guess not.”

“Does this mean that we can finally go to the zoo?”

Again, he looks at her and chuckles. “Have to get through this conversation first.” He knows she’s not as invested in the zoo as she appears to be, it’s just Jac passing the time and trying to dodge the inevitable.

“Look, I need to get back for Emma…” She says, reaching for her bag.

He’d wondered how long it would take her before she ran. “Jac…”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She pushes herself off the sofa, slings her bag over her shoulder, and walks to the door. 

His fingers brush the soft, clear skin of the inside of her wrist as she passes by him and they both hear the breath hitch in her throat. She pauses but doesn’t turn to look at him, her fingers anxiously fiddling with the strap of her bag. 

“... I’m not sure how long you can keep this going,” he says quietly. “But I know that I can’t.”

“What do you mean?” She responds, her voice monotone but fearful as she continues staring at the door, his fingers still tracing over the veins in her wrist.

“I can’t keep going when I don’t know what direction we’re going in.” She wants to snap at him about talking in riddles, but he’s stood up beside her now and tugging on her arm. She turns to face him and he brings both of her hands into his. “I need the truth, Jac,” he pleads, his voice just above a whisper. 

She finally looks up at him, his eyes locking onto hers and searching for the truths that she can’t utter.

“I… I don’t know,” is all she says.

“Please don’t let this end like it did last time.” He recalls how he’d been begging her for the truth about her reason for staying, just a matter of weeks ago. He sees the way her cheeks hollow and her jaw pulsates as she averts her gaze, swallowing thickly. “I’m not going to judge you or run for the hills or whatever it is you’re afraid I’ll do. I’m going to stay right here, I promise.”

She studies his face for any trace of a lie, but finds nothing. 

“Actions speak louder than words,” she eventually murmurs, twisting her hands in his so that she can intertwine their fingers. “Especially in my case.” 

There’s hesitancy as her eyes follow the curve of his shoulder, to his neck, and across his cheekbones to his piercing blues. His grip on her hands tightens reassuringly and she tries to slow her breathing as she rises onto her toes ever so slightly, leaning towards him and mentally encouraging him to meet her halfway. She feels the cold air rush between her fingers as he removes his hand from around hers, instead using it to tug her gently nearer. It’s when his lips brush hers that the nerves drain from her chest and she cups his jaw, urging their mouths to reconnect. It’s chaste and warm to begin with, but the quiet hum at the back of her throat incentivises his tongue to slip through her lips and she takes his unabashedness in her stride. 

 

For once, she willingly reciprocates his actions and suddenly the balance between them falls into place. 

  
  



End file.
